Van Helsing's Legacy
by A-Little-More-Magic
Summary: Integra finds her great-grandfather's journal, in which he outlines the experiments and procedures performed on Alucard to make him subservient to the Hellsing family.
1. Chapter 1

"…And Alucard will handle the situation in Kent; I think that takes care of this evening's situations." Integra straightened the stack of paperwork on her desk, and shut off the speakerphone. She tapped the end of her cigar on the astray and leaned back to relax in her wingback chair, for however short a time she had. Seconds later, a familiar silhouette shadow fall across her desk.

"I assume that Kent is the werewolf case," he said, taking on his usual solid form.

"It is."

"And why send me, and not a mortal detachment?" Integra sighed, putting out her cigar in the ashes.

"Because there will be silver bullets flying from the locals and you seem to heal from bullets much faster than a mortal," she said. Alucard smirked.

"No one ever found your grandfather's book on my weaknesses? He kept a very meticulous account."

"You have weaknesses other than sunlight?"

"Silver through the heart or brain, master; therefore I recommend that you send some mortals in armor, if you want me to return. Though, considering your attitude as of late, perhaps that was the plan?" the question didn't register, Integra was too distracted by the idea that—

"Silver can kill you? That easily?"

"Among others," he shrugged, striding to the east wall of her office and toying with her various artifacts on display. They ranged from the typical newton balls to more outlandish: skulls, large gemstones, and several poppets that gave off the telltale electric sense of magic, even when he handled them through his gloves.

"Stop. Touching. My. Things. Most of those are—"

"Yes, yes, irreplaceable, gifts of gratitude from dignitaries, but what about…Ah, yes." He found a heavy bookend, casted iron of a Greek youth with winged sandals. "The Helsings, thought they were so clever and secretive. Surely no one would think that 'Alucard' is a mere mirror…though no one has." He twisted the statuette's neck, and following the creaking metal-on-metal sound, there was a heavier thud of gears falling into place as the section of the shelf moved forward from the wall. "And no one would think that 'Hermes' would withhold information." The gears locked into their final position the back panel had lifted, revealing another shelf behind.

There were a few stacks of aged, fragile parchment, a cobweb covered book, and a small trinket on top of it that glinted under the layers of dust, like jewelry. Tendrils of shadow lifted the book and papers and dropped them on Integra's desk.

"Have a good read, I'm sure it's not any more gory than your last trip to the field." With two gloved fingers he carefully picked up the charm sitting on the cover and blew the dust off of it. "Tch, silver. Forgot that's what it was made of. Keep it, master, if you'd like; if not I'm sure the British Museum would pay handsomely for it." He looked over her confused expression. "You're awfully quiet,"

"….Count, what is this?"

"Merely another part of the Hellsing legacy that you inherited when you shot your uncle in the basement." He turned to leave as she brushed dust off of the book's cover. "I'll tell Walter send some armored mortals to Kent. If you need me for anything…Do not hesitate to summon me, Master."

"Right," she started flipping through the pages, preserved much better than the scrap papers that were in the compartment with it. Alucard shut the door behind him as he walked out, most likely for dramatic effect.

" _You're dismissed!"_

 _17th January 1897, Siberia_

 _I made it to the post today. My wife says our son is getting along fine with the governess, and also well with Mr. Harker's son. Mr. Harker hasn't written to me since I confessed to him that I kept the body. Mina remains an utter saint, even though I'm sure that he has told her, and she keeps my wife company on my journeys. Mina has written to me as well about her persistence in introducing Lord Godalming to a host of young heiresses. My loyal student, Jonathon, is the only one of our little army who agreed to come here with me, and the only one to whom I have explained the entire truth._

 _What I have dragged from the barbaric mountains of Wallachia to this Helheim is not only a body, but the living monster. Jonathan keeps it alive by drops of blood from our own caravan draft horses; it takes so little to resuscitate._

 _We have discovered across a series of nights that while iron of his homeland is enough to keep it in chains, it causes no irritation to it whatsoever, and weakens each night at the links. Blessed iron does little better. Silver sears the flesh on contact, something that I had only ever witnessed before with werewolves. It causes pain even as separation and rejoining of the limbs do not, and is more than enough for us to leave it outside and exposed to the treacherous cold. The organs do not seem to heal if the silver is not immediately removed from them, and even then they take hours to fully regenerate._

 _These experiments have been our duty for nearly a two weeks now, and while the nights get colder and colder, not even submerging it below the ice is enough to cause any damage that cannot be reversed with a few drops of blood._

 _I would like to try total decapitation again. It healed once already from that, but I doubt it will last if the parts are separated for more than a few days. A bowie knife was what did the deed the first time, but I'd like to try a cleaver plated in silver next time._

 _John, my dear child, if you are the one reading this—and I pray you are not—know that our curiosity is not out of desire to inflict pain on this demon: hell shall have that privilege in the end. We only want to know so we know how to protect ourselves from them should we ever run into one as powerful as this._

That was the end of the first entry. _The first_. The journal had dated entries through to the end of 1900; how long had the trials gone on for? Did they keep him starved and brutalized for that entire time?

Beyond revulsion she knew she had to keep on going through it. Alucard would most likely never be willing to speak of this—even if she ordered him, the idea of forcing him to explain how she could kill him if she wished was not something that she wanted to hear directly from the source. He was the Organization's best weapon, if there was something that he couldn't do, she couldn't have him failing with queen and country depending on him.

Despite the summer warmth and her suit jacket she felt a distinct chill in the room and shivered. _Ah, lovely day, reading about my-…about HELLSING's vampire's torture, a werewolf case, and now there is a ghost in my father's office... I'll get a witch on that tomorrow morning._ More likely she would handle it herself, just as she had sent the gardener's benevolent spirit on his way last summer so he would stop scaring the landscapers out of the green house.

 _"_ _You know that rosemary is a kinder way to banish ghosts than sage? And I've heard that it's more ethical, if that's the sort of thing that concerns you,"_

 _"_ _Since when do you practice witchcraft, Alucard?"_

 _"_ _Its simple, master, and its less like witchcraft and more….more like magic tricks."_

 _"_ _I don't mind calling it what it is. Teach me."_

 _"_ _As you command._ "

And that was the monster, that was demon that her great-grandfather tortured. The monster dressed in a black suit with thick glasses to hide his eyes. The monster that drove her to Foyle's the second the sun went below the horizon and led her to the occult section so she could pick up books to study while he slept. The monster that offered to aid her during the evenings, without command or request, out of what seemed kindness. The same monster who would turn pages by reaching over her shoulder and telling her which books were useful and which were rubbish.

The one who after her father's death would effortlessly morph to a small hound and sleep at the foot of her bed effectively protecting her from the night terrors she developed afterwards?

 _He obeys my every word out of memory of what they did…they broke him into submission. The seals were not held by sorcery, not by sacrifice._

It was not affection, it was not earnest loyalty, but a broken will and fear that made him into what he was today. That was the legacy he spoke of, _that_ was the legacy her father told her about on his deathbed.

Integra didn't know how long she sat there contemplating this, but it was the evening issues must have been over with, because her desk phone was buzzing with the downstairs phone's extension on the LCD screen. She turned on the intercom connection.

"Yes Walter?"

"Dinner is nearly ready sir." He sounded tired, almost bored.

"Give me a few minutes, I'll be down." Her own voice sounded strange to her, and perhaps Walter picked up on it, perhaps he was just that good at _knowing_ things.

"Are you alright, Integra?"

"I'm fine. I'll be there." She hung up and walked out of her office, and up to her room on the other side of the manor to change for dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

Unless she was going to be dining with members of the Table, guests, or any of her direct underlings at Hellsing, Integra never dressed for business when she went to dinner. Despite her suits and pressed trousers that she wore even on her days off, she could be seen at dinner in anything from pyjamas to simple dresses, even jeans and t-shirts. There was no place for Burberry suits or McQueen vests at the table with herself, Alucard, and Walter in the small kitchen.

The long, dark paneled dining room wasn't used save for formal events and holidays: that was one of the first things that Integra changed about the way the household was run after her father's death. It was too empty without her father, her uncle, and their close associates.

Besides, as a child she was used to eating earlier with the cook (whom she buried three years ago now, due to a freak accident involving a golem). She then started to insist on Walter eating with her, and as she and Alucard developed their strange camaraderie, she requested his presence as well. Walter took much longer to warm up to the vampire than she did, but those forced hours shared at a table according to the wishes of their mutual boss, aided in their stalemate.

Right now, she was absentmindedly going through her wardrobe, trying to find something casual, something that said "everything is normal, my great-grandfather tortured you for nearly four years, but everything is fine." She settled on a long plaid dress and a grey sweater, leaving her polished boots at the bottom of the wardrobe and walking down to the kitchens.

It wasn't fair to the new cook that she never wanted to talk to her, get close to her, but after the last one, she couldn't bring herself to become friendly with any other member of the staff. The more distance the better. Distance made things easy, it made her look in charge and cold, the "Iron" half of the Round Table's "Iron Maiden" name for her when she was not around. The only downside to distance was that she found herself getting too attached to the two she couldn't help but allow into her life. Walter, who had been a member of her family essentially, and Alucard…Alucard, who now may no longer want that attachment: if he ever felt it.

Of course he would still be required to serve, bound by the seals as he was, but would have no desire for whatever bond they had created themselves over years worth of books, of late night drives into the city, of chess games in the parlor, of mutual ache of being all alone in the world.

She was silent as she entered the kitchen; Walter already at the table, and as usual, still dressed formally. Alucard wasn't there yet.

"You're late tonight," Walter said, "did you and the vampire's chess match run longer than normal?" it seemed to be the only pastime that they were on even ground for; she always beat him at cards, and he won every other board game they tried. Yet, despite their connected minds, chess was something that they were able to find even ground on, playing for an hour or more most nights.

"No, I was in the office. I found some material of my grandfather's….It may have some serious repercussions for us." She toyed with the rare steak on her plate, the indent she made with her fork made it ooze red. "You know I'm not all that hungry tonight." Walter opened his mouth, about to speak, when the vampire materialized through the floor.

"If hers is as bloody as it smells, I'll take it." The plate slid away from Integra towards the empty spot at the table. The vampire leaned back in the chair, boots on the table.

"Alucard."

"Master." Walter looked between the two, sensing the cold wall between them where before was warmth that did nothing but concern him.

"Was the Kent werewolf handled?"

"By better men than I, master. And what about your reading?"

"Gruesome and vulgar as any day in the field; you were right about that." There was a pause with so much coldness in it that Walter felt the need to break it.

"Integra, what is he—"

"You didn't tell him, _sir_?" he cut a piece off of her steak, and sucked the blood out of it. "She never knew how her grandsire fettered me a hundred years or so ago; I gave her his books on it." His casual tone mocked her.

"I only made it through the first January; he just lists weaknesses, not how to _hold_ you or control you." She was already up from the table, making to leave.

"One thing or the other. Starvation usually does the trick. Then again, it only takes a little to come to…You should remember _that_." He smiled, still conversational, overly friendly, infuriating.

"Alucard I will not take the blame for what he did!"

"Of course not, and I wouldn't ask you too. But you are the heir to this," _oh but you are an open book, master._ "And Abraham would be _thrilled_ I'm sure, to know that his blood was sitting before his servant-demon, concerned for its feelings."

"SHUT UP." She slammed her fist on the table, uncharacteristically angered. "I order you to return to your crypt for the night. In SILENCE." He tipped his hat to her and walked out, plate in hand.

" _What_ was that all about?"

"Nothing, Walter. It's nothing. I'm going to bed, goodnight," she left the table without waiting for his reply. _Really_ , thought Walter, _I shouldn't worry;_ she's under stress, and the connection she has with Alucard must drain her immensely. Her youth and temper were the only reasons, _the only reasons I'm sure_ , that this exchange felt more like a lovers' quarrel than a debate on possible insubordination.

As strange as it felt to be in the office without her suit and glasses, Integra went back to straighten up her desk, which she had forgotten to do on her way out earlier that evening—or at least that was the excuse she gave herself when she collected the journal, tucking the loose papers into its back cover, and the silver ring that Alucard had dropped beside them.

Up in her room she lit the heavy bronze reading lamp beside her canopied bed, and examined the ring: silver, as he had stated, it looked like a simple signet ring, lacking any jewels the image on it was a backwards etching of the Tepes crest. She could make out the mirrored script as well: _Voivode Vlad Tepes, Dracula_. Mistranslation, of course, "Son of the Devil," it meant "Son of the Dragon," in reference to the order of knights his father belonged to. One of the most feared names in all of history was merely a diminutive. In the mirrored text though, the name looked more like Alucard.

Absent mindedly, as she contemplated the brown journal sitting on the bed before her weighing on her mind like John Fuseli's nightmare would on the heart, she placed it on each finger and slid it off, far too big on any of her own. She set it aside, and opened the book again

 _July 9_ _th_ _1899, just west of the lights of Cairo._

 _It was Jack who suggested that the beast might be vulnerable to extreme heat, and we had the coffin moved from the crypt below the manor to Cairo by train. He has not dealt with the grief of Miss Westenra well; Arthur has long moved on with his life, and will marry in a month. I've yet to convince Jack to return with me for the wedding._

 _Jack still blames the woman's death—rightfully so—on the demon. He and I were the ones to put her out of her final misery in the crypt that night, and his growing fixation on how it was Dracula who murdered her… it makes me wonder if his intentions are more on revenge than they are scientific query._

 _…_ _. Burying the body in sand has no effects that burying in snow, ice, or native soil do not have, though in the native soil he seems to rejuvenate faster. Sunlight leads to ignition after a few minutes, though we wish to experiment more before leaving it out at full noon in the desert sun._

 _Flammability of its flesh is what we work on during our nights now, and we have tried three nights in a row to burn its body, as I will outline here: once with accelerants, once dry, and once —_

Integra covered her mouth with her hand, and swallowed hard against the rising feeling of sickness. Unable for the moment to read on in the journal itself, she took out the loose leaves and paged through them. _Hellsing_ , not _Van Helsing_ was the signed name, she looked for other names or dates, surely the _condition_ of the paper signaled it to be older or at least as old as the journal. _Richard Hellsing_. Her heart stopped at the name she hadn't seen or heard in nearly ten years, and wished to never see again. _This was his doing…they opened the crypt to keep up their experiments_. _That foul-that_ evil _man did—_ Arthur Hellsing. _No, no he couldn't have done…_

 _Arthur Hellsing, the golden son maintains the idea that we should not repeat past 'intrusions,' he always did feel pity for monsters. I however think that reminding It who owns It is a better approach. Arthur did however consent to my suggestion of severing the heart arteries—along with seeing if It has any blood of Its own, this will answer to question of whether or not It can live without a heart._

 _There is only a rare beat of it, as if It can control its own heart. Arthur was never a squeamish man but upon lifting the dry organ from It's chest cavity he nearly fainted._

Integra wanted to vomit. The visual of a dried out yet still living heart was disgusting enough…the thought of it being done out of little more than desire to inflict injury to someone she saw every day, _by the man I hate more than the rest of the world, and by the one whom I loved more than the world_ shook her mind violently, she curled up on her side, pushing the papers and book away.

 _"_ _Do you have a heartbeat?" she lifted the rook and took his knight in an easy trap._

 _"_ _On occasion I do, but not always," he captured her knight on the opposite side._

 _"_ _Is it the same as a human's?" the move was sacrificial, she now had his king cornered by her queen_

 _"_ _You mean don't know?" looking back, there were so many moments he alluded to the knowledge that her father had about him, "Here," he reached across the coffee table and chess board for her hand, and held it on his chest_. _One, two, three calm, relaxed beats and she withdrew._

 _"_ _And you can control it?"_

 _"_ _Sometimes it has a mind of its own. I'm not entirely sure how it works_. _I assume that when I have blood in me it does what it can, and it does usually feel human."_

The same heart she held under her hand, the heart that let her win at chess was the same one her father cut out and replaced haphazardly for no reason other than to fulfill a legacy of sadism.


End file.
